Page 40 of Bad Little Bride

So of course he would want me instead…until a better opportunity comes along.

But then again, it’s not Katana’s lips permanently inked into his skin, right there for all to see. It wasn’t her he took to that dinner with the Mitchells, and she’s not the woman he planned to name forFortuneFlave’s magazine article that day.

What is all this about?

What is he about?

A thought crosses my mind. “If you still plan to overthrow my family, it won’t work. We both know when this marriage ends, so does the access going through with it granted you.”

His features harden in an instant. “Who says this marriage is going to end?”

“History.” One word. That’s all I say, but we both know what I mean.

Enzo runs his pointer finger over his lower lip as he stares at me. After a silent moment, he shrugs, nodding. “You’re right. This marriage will end…” He leans in, pulling my hair over my shoulder, his eyes on the tips as they tease my ribs before narrowing on my own. “When I’m six feet under and not a second sooner, so go ahead, Little Bride. Get mad, bury yourself in your thoughts and assume the worst, we both know I’m capable of it, but know all you’re gonna do is strip yourself of the life you could have because you’re so focused on what you fear you won’t.”

Enzo pushes off the bed and heads for the door. Just as he slips into the hall, I shout.

“If you think I entered into this secretly hoping for a fairy tale, you’re wrong.”

He looks over his shoulder, meeting my eyes. “If you think that’s not exactly what I could give you,you’rewrong.”

My mouth opens in rebuttal, but the hard expression that falls over Enzo as he spins to face me fully has me pausing.

“I was coming to tell you we have a fundraiser dinner to be at tonight. I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to reveal our relationship to everyone. Press, friends, family. Enemies. They’ll all be there. I wanted my fiancée on my arm, so I could claim her as mine in front of the world tonight. So everyone would know, without a doubt, that I am yours.”

My lips part. He’s ready to go public. To show them all.

“But…” He lifts a shoulder. “Perhaps I’ll ask Ann-Marie instead.”

My brows snap together, jolting me from my thoughts. “You’re a bastard.”

His smirk is as evil as the look in his eye. “I’myourbastard.”

I throw the stupid phone he gave me—the suddenly serviceless, password-protected, Wi-Fi enabled phone—at his head, but he dodges it effortlessly, laughing loudly as he makes his way down the hall.

It’s not until he’s out of sight that I realize that he not only left my door wide open and unlocked, but that an invitation sits in the place his ass was parked.

Tearing it from the comforter, I glare at the golden-trimmed card, a spark firing in my gut as I read over the words.

The fundraiser is being held at The Enterprise.

My sister owns The Enterprise.

“Wait!” I dart into the hall, running in nothing but thick, comfy socks in the direction Enzo disappeared, and when I round the corner into what was nothing but a wasted space, I freeze.

Much like that day in the courtyard, the space has been transformed, this time into a dressing room of sorts. A womanwith the word “crybaby” tattooed above her left eyebrow sits on a vanity chair, playing on her phone, every shade of makeup in existence in a giant trunk to the left of her.

Three-piece mirrors sit in all four corners, a spinning pedestal before them. Five different gown styles in five color options hang from metal hooks, and a woman wearing an apron with dozens of pins at the hem stands beside the racks, fussing with a garment bag, and beside her, a third and final female. This one setting combs out onto a folded cloth as precisely as one would throwing knives—smallest to largest, left to right.

I glance across the women, wondering where they came from and how Enzo knows them.

“You haven’t showered.”

All eyes fly to me, and my chest heats as I leisurely look to the old woman. “Hello, Grandma. Good to see you too.”

Someone scoffs behind me, andGrandmascowls. “Cute, dear. Now go. Shower. No moisturizer on your face. Jayden will handle everything for you. Shall I prepare some chardonnay?”

My brows jump and she shakes her head, but I don’t miss the small smile she fights as she puts her hands on my shoulders and spins me away. “Go on. You have ten minutes.”

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